Like Shadows
by BleedingSaro
Summary: Silence is like shadows. In it lies a thousand possilities: shelter, secrets, stories. Perhaps even a decade of words unspoken, just waiting to be discovered. One must only be willing to brave the risk of finding them.  ShikaIno  AU .


Break The Silence  
>Summary:The silence that follows screams like a banshee, a decade of unspoken words and a million secrets that beg to be discovered. "It's time to find your voice." -InoShika, AU.<p>

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><p>Chapter One: The End of the Beginning<p>

-Ten Years Ago-  
><strong>Inoichi<strong>

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><p>My daughter is the one who comes home early to find our home in flames. My daughter is the one to arrive in time to watch the fire grow and dance and cackle until it finally dies out, taking with it more than a house, so much more than can ever be rebuilt.<p>

I am the parent. I am the one she depends on to keep things like these from happening in the first place. I am the one who should have been here in time to stop the disaster in its tracks, before the fire claimed anything irreplaceable. Instead, I am the one who arrives too late, when there's nothing left but ashes. I am the one that finds my daughter doubled over in the sea of ashes, wracked with a violent combination of coughs and sobs. I am the one who stumbles over to her in a useless stupor.

In the moments it takes to reach her, I am overwhelmed by a torrent of conflicting emotions.

First, the panic. What is she doing here? She should be at school right now- I walked her there myself, just this morning. I held her hand and encouraged her to have a great day and to not cause too much trouble, just like I have done every day this year. Now she is curled up on the ground, her clothes streaked with the one thing that remains of a house that we left just hours ago: soot. I remember, as I cross what used to be a beautiful garden, that she was in a bad mood when she came home yesterday. The way she dragged her feet when we walked out the door this morning. Had she turned right back around and went home after I dropped her at the Academy? I don't wonder how the fire started. She might have grown hungry and turned the stove on. Hell, she might have been playing with matches, a typical six year old thing to do. It doesn't matter. The only thing that I'm concerned for is her safety.

Smoke still fills the air, but my lungs relax when I kneel beside her. Relief floods through me, the previous terror escaping in a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She's sitting on her knees, her arms clasped tightly around her middle, her forehead pressed to the ashen earth. She's still trembling, and from the way the dirt turns into a pool of blackened mud beneath her head, I gather that she's crying. But physically, she is fine.

"Ino." I reach out, placing my hand on her shaking shoulder. She seems so small beneath my grasp, a child exposed to a great terror. My child, intact. Alive. I give her a gentle nudge. "It's alright now, Ino. Daddy's here."

This should reassure her. This has _always_ reassured her. _Daddy's here, Ino, _I told her when our dog died just the evening before her last birthday. _Daddy's here, _I told her when I took her to the Academy for the first time and she clung to my pants leg, begging me not to leave yet. _Daddy's here, _I told her not two nights ago, when I found her curled into a tight ball in her closet as thunder rattled the windowpanes. This has always elicited at least some sort of reaction- a tearful nod, a sheepish grin, a pinky held out, awaiting a further promise- but this time, the words don't seem to reach her.

"Ino," I say again, more insistently. "It's okay. You're okay. Everything's fine."

She acknowledges my presence with a slight shake of her head. Her long, blonde locks have escaped from the meticulous braid my wife twisted it into this morning; the tresses trail in the mud around her. I move to pat her head but catch myself. Upon closer inspection, her hair is singed at the ends.

I shake my head. Ino's always prided herself in her long, angel hair. Later, when we have to cut off the charred ends, she will throw a tantrum. She will scream bloody murder, and my wife and I will roll our eyes over her head, but right now I'm almost looking forward to it. Hair grows back. It could have been so much worse.

However, experience reminds me that this is not how a child sees things. A child is oblivious to the bigger picture; for a time, her hair _will _be the big picture for her, and she'll trust us to take care of the rest. Right now, I'm sure her biggest fear is that she's done something horribly wrong, that the world will end because of whatever accident led to this, that we'll never speak to her again. I've been a kid before. Sure, it's been a while, but I don't imagine the concept has changed all that much.

I chuckle to myself as I nudge her once more. "Whatever happened, I'm not mad at you. Your mom won't be mad at you. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

"No."

Her voice is so soft I think I must have imagined it. The only thing that convinces me otherwise is the continued shaking of her head, the way she clutches more tightly at her sides.

I roll my eyes and poke at her ribs. Yes, this is going to be a tough one to explain, and yes, everything we owned was inside that house and it's going to be hard to start from scratch, but so long as we're all here, we'll manage. I wasn't lying when I told her I wasn't angry- we'd sit down and have a serious tallk about it later, but it's not like we're going to stop feeding her or beat her with bricks, or anything.

Ino slaps my hand away with so much force the sound echoes through the suddenly still air. It doesn't hurt, but before I can decide whether or not I'm frustrated now, she starts screaming. "No," she says again and again. "_No, no, NO._"

She's sitting up now, her face red and caked with mud where the tears haven't run their course. Her fists clench. Her body trembles. Her blue eyes well with tears, but blaze with an intensity I can't begin to fathom, a desperate message hidden deep in a sea of sapphire.

Suddenly, I understand. Ino is not worried about being in trouble. Ino, for once, is not even worried about her hair. Ino is not _worried _at all. Ino is _devastated. _Just like that, relief is gone, fear replacing it like a tight fist around my heart. Cold. Suffocating. "Ino, what-"

She has barely lifted her hand to point at the pile of debris behind us before she starts wailing. And then I know.

I know when my daughter collapses again a few moments later, no longer sobbing.

I know when I look over my shoulder in what feels like slow motion.

I know when I see the pitiful glances the people who gathered to fight the fire are giving me.

I know before anyone says a word.

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><p><em>AN: So, this is what happens when I read enough good fanfiction. I get inspired, and the rusted cogs that feed my creativity start creaking again. Anyway, I haven't written anything in a while, and it's my very first ShikaIno fic, so please forgive me if it is - and by that, I mean _because_ it is - less than perfect. Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll find your way back for Chapter 2, when the storyline will start tying in with the summary. ~Saro_


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